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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158896">Finality and Interpretation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineisa/pseuds/catherineisa'>catherineisa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Psych (TV 2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Death, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other, Please comment your thoughts, Reflection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,089</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineisa/pseuds/catherineisa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No fault of Shawn's, or wholly Shawn's fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Burton "Gus" Guster &amp; Shawn Spencer, Henry Spencer &amp; Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara &amp; Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer, Shawn Spencer &amp; Karen Vick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Finality and Interpretation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's”</p><p> </p><p>Shawn Spencer is usually a hopeful man but in the moment he couldn't bring himself to think of any way he could get out of trouble this time. He tried to think of pineapples and flowers and generally positive things. His positive thought process is hindered by the hum of the industrial fan and the ticking of a clock he can't see. He tries desperately to calculate how many cases he'd solved including this one as a distraction (and as an ego boost in a dire situation) but he's drawn away from it by the sharp pain emanating from his abdomen and his shoulder. He draws in a sharp breath. He's propped up against the concrete wall and he can feel the uneven cement tearing tiny holes in his shirt. Normally he'd complain and make a big deal of it but all of the blood seeping through his clothes has most likely ruined them anyways. If he had thought he would get out of this he would've taken them to Henry, he pauses the thought and amends it. Dad. Taken them to dad.</p><p>The bullet holes would just be a story he could tell (and exaggerate) if he hadn't already lost three or so pints of blood. Shawn had never thought about death much, the reality of it was, up until now he'd assumed since he'd cheated death so many times that he was immortal (or at least he joked about it like that to Gus and tried not to think too much about it) some kind of indestructibility he'd always assumed would stay with him. Now he thinks it was just dumb luck.</p><p>'Maybe we'll finally find out.' He thinks only somewhat lucidly.</p><p>He thinks about Gus, about all the times he managed to get them in trouble and how Gus had always stuck by him, even in the worst possible situations. He thinks about the time he'd somehow convinced Gus that they could scale the wall of a private estate because he'd wanted to see if it was haunted. He thinks of the will that Gus had forced him to draft after the one year anniversary of working at <em>Psych, </em>and the fact that he'd made him promise <em>cross his heart and hope to die </em>that he'd maintain it. Shawn remembers joking about that being the point of the will and Gus punching him in the shoulder and telling him it wasn't funny. It all seems so far away now. He briefly notices that everything is far away. His vision is blurring now and he fights against closing his tired eyes. </p><p>He slumps further into the wall, pushing himself down into a laying position and breathing as clearly as he can. He feels like someone is sitting on his chest and he coughs a fair amount of blood, turning his head to the side to reduce the chances of choking on it, like he wasn’t going to die one way or another. He looks over to see the suspect, Kittemer laying dead on the floor. He'd swiped one of Lassiter's hidden guns for insurance before venturing into the warehouse. Of course Gus hadn't approved and the detectives had forbidden him from trying to 'glean' anything from the building. They probably should have known he’d do something incredibly stupid. </p><p>He hadn't listened and now he was in unimaginable trouble. He chuckles heavily at the irony before coughing up a mix of blood and mucus. Lassiter had directly told him the man was too dangerous and to stay back. He could imagine Lassiter's '<em>I told you so' </em> so clearly in his head. He looked over at the dead man once again, replaying the events leading up to this in his head. He had snuck into the building and he was hidden until Kittemer spotted him in a mostly broken mirror and turned around, drawing his gun.  There was a short chase and he'd ducked behind a large crate. He'd pulled Lassiter's gun, which he didn't think he'd actually need to use but had confidence in his shooting skills nonetheless. If Henry had taught him anything so on and so forth. He'd moved near silently to a better vantage point, suddenly there was a crack and he realized he’d stepped on one of the broken pieces of mirror. He hears four shots and fires one. He'd been relieved at first. This was before he came to the realization that he could feel that blood was oozing steadily out of several wounds. The pain catches up with him quickly and he slouches. Out of the four bullets the other man had fired, two had hit him. He glances over at the man who is now laying flat in the floor, bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. His eyes are still open and he's seemingly staring at Shawn. He looks away, pressing his hand over the wound in his stomach. It's too painful to move and soon he's fighting a losing battle with his breathing.</p><p> </p><p>He can hear the birds chirping softly mixed with the sound of approaching sirens. He'd made a frantic call with the killer's phone about fifteen minutes ago. He'd had to assure the chief it wasn't a kid pulling a prank. It'd taken him approximately two minutes to tell her what had happened. At first, she had been incredibly angry with him but in his ragged voice, he'd had to tell her he'd been shot. Her voice had been overturned by worry and she could hear her yell to someone to get a trace. He heard Juliet's fearful interjection telling Vick exactly where he was. Vick had told him to stay on the line regardless but he flicked his phone shut soon after and tossed it away. He didn't have the strength to listen to whatever they had to say. He saw the flashing lights reflected on the ceiling through the windows as a barrage of policemen in their nearly indistinguishable uniforms burst in. He sees the outlines of the detectives' shadows on the floor as Lassiter pulled him up into a sitting position. He was careful not to ruffle him too much, Shawn's eyes were half-lidded and dilated nearly entirely. Lassiter took off his jacket and pressed it into the more severe wound on his stomach. Through the slits in his eyes he could see Gus and Juliet, they each had different expressions on their faces, neither very hopeful, Juliet is on the phone and her voice is urgent but he can't make out what she's saying. Lassiter pulls the back of his collar to try and straighten him out the best he can, not giving up on trying to save him. Gus vomits in the corner.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm. I should tell you something. I need to tell you something.” Lassiter doesn't look him in the face. His brain supplies him with the tune of Howard Jones '<em>Things Can Only Get Better</em>' and he chuckles bitterly. Lassiter mistakes it for pain but Shawn can't exactly say it doesn't hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“Lassie. ssomething I've to tell you. sonly right to tell you. M not psychic. Never was, jus good wihth details. Remembery stuff. S'all in here.” He tries to bring his hand to his temple but groans and gives up midway. His words are slurred. “Maybe thiss s my <em>Kobayashi Maru</em>.” He hums slightly, making an explosion sound effect before blanching at the pain it causes him.</p><p>“I already knew that Spencer, I didn't know how at first but spending that time on the lake with Henry. I figured it out. You're a good detective, a pain in the ass but a good detective.” He can tell Lassiter is telling the truth but can also see that he too has lost hope for Shawn's survival. A paramedic hoists Shawn onto the stretcher inserting something into the crook of his arm. He stops them for a second, leaning over Shawn. “I never hated you, I just-” Shawn nods weakly. “I know. Lassie. I know.” His words are slurred and suddenly Lassiter's chest clenches.</p><p> </p><p>They hadn't let Gus into the ambulance. He'd tried his best to argue that he was the emergency contact but when he looked over and saw Shawn in that condition, he had let it go. He couldn't get the image out of his head. Shawn had never been so sedentary in the time he'd known him, always twitching or dancing but as he looked to him in the ambulance Shawn wasn't moving at all, face pale and only resembling a fraction of his former self. It was almost like he was already dead. The faint heartbeat beeping on the monitor is the only thing convincing him otherwise.</p><p>He reluctantly agrees to let them go off without him, returning to Juliet who is sitting on the concrete stoop hunched over. “What if it's?” Gus stops her before she can say another word. He doesn't want to even think about that possibility. Gus had always presumed that Shawn would be there forever. Even when he was in college and Shawn wasn't there he'd receive postcards from him with pin-ups or Garfield on them. He tries to be positive but he's negative by nature. He tries his best not to mist over as he looks over and sees Juliet doing the same. He can't help it.</p><p> </p><p>Gus was on his way to the hospital when he had heard that Shawn hadn't made it. That they'd tried but the blood loss was substantial. He'd pulled off onto the shoulder and broken down. No one stops and the world goes on. Gus is sniffling and crying on the wheel of the Echo wondering how the world could be so unaffected by the death of his faux psychic friend. He figures it's typical but his chest aches thinking about it. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and with one last resolute sniffle he starts his car again and merges back into the fold of traffic.</p><p> </p><p>He goes to the hospital against his own will and the doctor that had been overseeing Shawn immediately pressed his hand into his shoulder grounding him in his spot. Gus hadn't dared move as the doctor explained the protocol to him. He knows hospital protocols like the back of his hand since it helps when pedaling medications to various doctors. He doesn't bother interrupting the man as he tells him that he needs to identify if the man in the bed is Shawn. Gus breathes irregularly as he follows the older man's footsteps nearly exactly. There's a sheet over the body that is slightly dampened with blood and Gus holds his breath, hoping that Shawn will call out from the room across the hall and call him a dummy and make some kind of obscure movie reference or ramble about James Spader. He looks over his shoulder tentatively. Hopefully. He closes his eyes forcefully and turns back when he only sees an empty bed. The doctor removes the sheet gingerly, only uncovering Shawn's face. All of the carefully constructed hope and collectivity he'd had only a moment before is broken as he realizes what he's seeing. He reaches out suddenly before thinking better of it. Shawn's face is expressionless, like he's asleep with none of the agitation or tremors that he usually sees. He wants to shake him vigorously and tell him to wake up, he wants to wake up and find out that it was just a nightmare, he wants a million things that would mean that Shawn is still alive. Hell at this point he'd settle for April Fools. Shawn's face is drained of its usual rosy tinge and Gus inhales sharply as he reaches out to touch his face. He wishes he's just really gullible and that when his fingers touch his friends cheek that he'll rise up comically like Frankenstein's Monster and laugh uproariously and high five the doctor who turns out to be in on the joke. It doesn't happen like that. He touches Shawn's cheek and he doesn't move, his face is still, no twitching and no breathing. He wants to grasp the edge of the sheet and yank it back, shake Shawn violently until he wakes up and everything is fine. The doctor looks on sympathetically, purple shadows under his eyes.</p><p>“Will you be making arrangements? You are the only listed contact.” Gus doesn't look away from Shawn's face as he nods solemnly. He can feel the tears gathering in his eyelashes and he closes them for a moment, trying to breathe rhythmically before eventually walking out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>He passes several familiar faces on his way to the elevator. Despite his luck the elevator is empty, he walks in before turning and backing himself up against the wall and sliding down. The moment he hits the ground he breaks. The solemnity breaks and he wails like a kicked cat. Sobs break through him and he tries to huff out a solid breath only to be met by more tears and no reprieve. He draws his knees into his stomach and covers his face, wiping his face on the knees of his pants. He hears the elevator finally open at the destination and someone steps in. He hears a ragged sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Gus.” The voice is all too familiar and Gus nearly breaks out into a new fit of sobs. He looks up at him, snot and tears soaking through parts of his pants and shirt. Henry doesn't comment on the grossness of it. He reaches down and drags him up.</p><p>“They haven't told me anything. Is he?” Gus knows Henry and he cuts him off before he can say 'okay'.</p><p>He shakes his head like a rag doll before breaking down again.</p><p>“He didn't, he didn't make it. He's, ” He doesn't finish. There's something indescribable on Henry's face and he swallows the lump in his throat. Gus can see the tears threatening to break in his waterline and decides to step off of the elevator, pressing the button to open the doors before stepping out and pressing the button for Shawn's floor. As the doors close he sees Henry put his head in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>There was so much that Henry had regretted about Shawn's upbringing, especially after Madeline had left. He let Shawn come to his own conclusion about the split and it had caused the first of many rifts between them. He tries not to think about what would've happened if Shawn hadn't moved back to Santa Barbara, that he'd probably still be moonlighting as a jack of all trades. Things had gotten better between him and Shawn as time went on. They'd still bickered but it wasn't so malicious as it used to be, they'd come to an understanding.</p><p> </p><p>He'd had to explain to the doctor who he was though still. “I'm his father. Henry Spencer.” The doctor only relents when he shows him his driver's license.</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry for your loss.” Henry nods blankly and sighs heavily as he sees his son's face. He'd always worried about Shawn getting hurt or worse, but he'd never thought he'd have to live the day where he'd see him dead. He chokes on his words as he tries to tell his son that he loves him. “I'm so sorry Shawn. You were a good kid, a pain in the ass but” He wavers. “I love you son.” A tear breaks his vision and falls onto the stained white sheet. It's blurry and harsh as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He tries to clear his throat as he dials the number and waits for the pick up.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Madeline.” His voice breaks coarsely. “Our son. He's” He tries to hold it back but as the word 'dead' breaks out of him he knows he can't hold it back. Henry can't recall the last time he'd cried as a grown man. He can't recall much of anything as he grasps his sons slack hand and presses into his forehead, as if in prayer.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Gus can't bring himself to go to the police station afterwards. He doesn't want to go to their shared office either, he ends up at the latter.</p><p> </p><p>He picks up knickknacks and puts them in boxes throwing away trash along the way. He picks up a copy of Isaac Asimov's autobiography and smiles sadly. He toys with the baubles on his friends desk before hurriedly putting everything back exactly where it was and stepping away. He suddenly understands those parent that keep everything the same after death.</p><p> </p><p>He hears the door creak open and click shut. “Hello. Mister Spencer? Mister Guster?” He turns to look at the man solemnly. He's not someone Gus recognizes, a lanky log haired college student with a cagey look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“No. Psych is indefinitely shuttered. Please leave.” He tries to keep his voice even and harsh but it's comes across as more crackly and mournful.</p><p> </p><p>“But I need your help. I heard about you from...” Gus turns away from the man hoping that the moment he does he'll disappear. He doesn't and Gus cuts him off. “Shawn Spencer is dead.”</p><p>The man steps back for a second muttering, not knowing how to deal with Gus's grief. “I, I okay. Sorry to bother you sir.” He hastily amends a 'Sorry for your loss.' before exiting the building awkwardly. Gus stares through the green printed window, trying to think of a time in his life that he hadn't had Shawn. He thinks of college shortly before realizing that even then, Shawn was with him in the form of messily scrawled letters and postcards. He throws himself down into his desk chair, the sight of the two in the photo frame on Shawn's desk sends him into a new fit of tears.</p><p> </p><p>Juliet hadn't taken the news well. No one had but still. Juliet had tried to keep her eyes dry and her mind clear as she'd gotten to the station. She'd sat down at her desk and pulled herself closer, repeating that he was going to be fine like a mantra in her head.</p><p>Juliet tries to sift through her undone paperwork when her phone rings loudly. It rings twice before she picks it up.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” She damns phone etiquette even if just for the moment as the sound of her own voice reaches her ears. Frail. Unstable. She swallows thickly as the doctor on the other end of the line breaks the bad news to her. All of the usual commotion of the police station seems to stop as the words register to her.</p><p>“Shawn Spencer passed away this afternoon on the way to surgery. I am truly sorry for your loss, Miss O'Hara.”</p><p> </p><p>She's doesn't say anything, opting to hang up the phone instead. She breathes heavily, focusing on every breath before bringing her feet up onto the chair and hugging them close. She spares a glance at Carlton who is picking up his own phone. She thinks of all the things she should have done and all of the things she needs to do but doesn't know if she can. She starts on the fact that she should have told him that she loved him. She should have pulled him aside, faced up to that goofy smile and those bright eyes and just told him. “Shut up and listen to me please.” She thinks of the quizzical face he would've made and how she would've melted at it, nearly losing her nerve again. “I love you. Shawn Spencer, I love you.” He would've kissed her and told her he loved her too. Suddenly the train of thought is too hard for her. She drops her legs, vision blurring as she pulls out her gun and her timer. She falters for a second as she looks to Buzz who spares her a confused but sympathetic glance. She chokes out a heavy sob as she realizes that the majority of the station must not know. It breaks her heart. All of Shawn's pomp and bravado but no one could sense that anything was wrong. She inhales unsteadily trying to blink lightly enough that the tears don't fall from her eyes.</p><p>She looks to Lassiter again as she disassembles the gun. His mouth is set in a tight line and he's staring at the wall. The phone is still up to his ear and he brings a hand up to his temple rubbing it harshly. He's trying not to betray the emotions he's feeling but O'Hara knows him better than that. He hangs up the phone and walks towards the downstairs men's room. She doesn't have the strength to follow him as she reassembles her gun before ultimately taking it apart again.</p><p> </p><p>Lassiter is trying his hardest not to give away the fact that this has bothered him. He'd always prided himself on keeping most of his emotions in check. Anger had always been the one he'd let stay rampant. He tries to keep up that anger, to direct it at the man that killed his friend. He finds himself surprised to be calling Spencer a friend, even if just in his head. He figures it doesn't matter anymore. He looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes disclosed the exhaustion he'd felt since he'd heard about Shawn's captivity. He wishes it was as simple as a consultant dying. Although horrible he would be able to move on. If only anything was that simple and if only Spencer was just a consultant. He'd ingrained himself so irrefutably into each of their lives that even Lassiter had never imagined a situation where he'd be gone. He'd wanted to pretend that everything that had happened because of Spencer had been terrible but he just couldn't.</p><p> </p><p>He splashes his face with water and leaves the bathroom hoping that no one would be able to tell that anything was different. He let the door hiss lowly behind him as it shut and began to walk back, only to be stopped by Woody Strode who was carrying two corn dogs in one hand. He offered Lassiter one but the shorter man crinkled his nose in distaste.</p><p>“What's got your goat detective?”</p><p>He's smiling wryly and Lassiter wonders briefly if he knows before concluding that he probably doesn't. The coroner had been oddly close to Shawn from the moment the two had met, it was like watching old pals scuff it out about a TV show they'd each seen, except it was usually a corpse. He takes a large bite of one of the corn dogs making a pleased noise in his throat. “You haven't heard?” Woody gives him a strange look before shrugging unaffected. “The uh” He almost says 'fake psychic but he figures if Spencer had kept it under such lock and key for so long he deserves to have it kept that way in death. “Psychic consultant for the department died earlier today.” The coroners face falls and he searches the man's face for deception before swallowing the remnants of what he'd been chewing. Woody hopes dearly that it's a joke, he'd known that the detective and psychic detective hadn't always gotten along. <em>No fault of Shawn's</em>, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm suddenly not very hungry.” He walks past the detective back into the morgue. He'd never been skeeved by dead things but the thought of Shawn's body on one of his slabs is enough to make his stomach drop.</p><p> </p><p>Lassiter walks back up the stairs, looking into The Chief's office briefly.</p><p> </p><p>Karen Vick had her head tucked into her hands and her fingers clasped together. In her mind she couldn't separate what had happened earlier in the day with losing one of her officers. She picks the ornamental glass fish off of her desk and cradles it gently in her hands. She thinks of all the times that Shawn had come into her office and used it as a conduit for his “Psychic” visions. Karen had always had herself pegged as a skeptic and it was no different now. She'd taken a risk hiring Henry's son because she knew it would pay off somehow. She'd never believed he was actually psychic but she'd figured at the time that it was a necessary farce to get the man to cooperate. She'd always thought the worst possibility would be him ending up in jail, not dead. She sets the fish down carefully.</p><p> </p><p>Vick stands up wordlessly and opens the door to her office.</p><p> </p><p>“As some of you may know by now.” She hesitates slightly, trying to figure out the most delicate way to break the news before continuing.</p><p>“Our consultant Mr. Shawn Spencer was the casualty of a shooting earlier today. He had gleaned some information about the subject and tailed him. While waiting for backup” She takes a breath, figuring it's best if people don't know he'd been completely on his own until they'd received his near frantic call. “Shots were exchanged and the suspect went down but unfortunately Mister Spencer had sustained serious injury and didn't make it.”</p><p>She folds her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking as she looks around the room at the solemn faces of her officers and detectives.</p><p>“Mister Spencer was a good man and a damn good consultant, some of his theatrics might have been out of the box sometimes but he was an honorable man and he was a part of this department as much as the rest of us. He will be fondly remembered.”</p><p> </p><p>She gasps thinly as she turns back and retreats into her office. Juliet nods in response to the short speech. Quiet tears still trailing down her face.</p><p> </p><p>It's five days later before Gus works up the courage to walk into the police station. He does the breathing exercises he'd memorized for grief. He's somewhat surprised when Lassiter comes up to him. “Guster.” He makes a face that makes Gus thinks he regrets coming over. He continues nonetheless. “I wanted to ask you something. If it's not too much trouble.” Lassiter's tone is devoid of the usual harshness and Gus.</p><p>“If you're going to tell me I should have seen this coming or gloat or anything I swear I'll kill you.” He almost adds the 'I've got nothing to lose anymore'. He takes in the details of Lassiter's appearance, his tie is skewed, his hair isn't slicked back like it normally would be and he sees the dark circles under his eyes. His tone is resigned as he continues.</p><p>“No. I. Nothing like that. I wanted to ask you something. When Spencer-” He corrects himself. “When Shawn was talking to me in the warehouse. He said something to me.” Gus nearly spits.</p><p>“He told you?” Gus looks around but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. “Yes. He did, but that isn't what I wanted to ask you.” Gus swallows the bad taste in his mouth. “Yeah?” He's sure it's not the right thing to say but Lassiter doesn't seem to notice.</p><p>“He said something about his <em>Kobayashi Maru </em>? I just figured you would know what it meant. I've been-” Lassiter doesn't admit that he'd replayed the moment in his head a million times since he'd heard that Shawn had died. It had affected him a great deal more than he'd expected. Though if Guster has picked up on it he doesn't mention it.</p><p>Gus feels his eyes twitch as he tries to keep his emotions in check.</p><p>His tone is somber. “The <em>Kobayashi Maru</em> was a ship in <em>Star Trek.” </em> He searches Lassiter's face for any jeering but continues when he only sees earnest curiosity. “What was the significance of it?” He crosses his arms and Gus can see that his hands are shaking. Noticing the detectives shaking hands is enough for him to shove his own hands in his pockets.</p><p>“It was a test.”</p><p>“Wait, wait. I thought you said it was a ship?” Gus is tempted to roll his eyes but he thinks it won't do either of them any good. “Yeah it was. A cadet would be placed in the middle of the ship, the <em>Kobayashi Maru, </em>there was no legitimate way to win, unless you're like Jim Kirk and you reprogram it.” He sighs. “There were two scenarios, The ship receives a distress signal and the cadet is forced to choose whether to withdraw from the rescue mission, risking the deaths of the people on the freighter or enter the neutral zone and rescue the vessel while risking a violation of the peacetime treaty between the federation and the Klingons.” Lassiter nods lamely.</p><p> </p><p>“You said it was impossible? Then why do it?”</p><p> </p><p>Gus shrugs as if it's terribly obvious and immediately regrets it.</p><p> </p><p>“It's about what choice you make. Since there's no way to win and the cadets know this, they try to make the most lucrative choice. It was considered to be an insight into the way they might run a ship.”</p><p> </p><p>Lassiter makes a noise like comprehension and turns his head to stare at the wall. Gus's concern must be apparent. “What?”</p><p>“<em>Maybe this is my Kobayashi Maru.</em>” There's a distance in Lassiter's voice and he suddenly walks away. Gus feels the panic in his throat. He nearly forgets what he originally came in to do. Shawn had always mentioned finding a purpose when they were teenagers, he said he'd run from thing to thing until he found his place. He'd said each time they'd talked about it that whenever he realized he'd found his purpose it'd be like his <em>Kobayashi Maru, </em>that whatever choices he made before would give whatever he found meaning<em>. </em>That whatever came before him finding that purpose would be irrelevant, and Gus had never gotten it. Maybe he doesn't get it now but he hopes that Shawn found his purpose in the end.</p><p> </p><p>He looks over to Lassiter once more before knocking hesitantly on Vick's door.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm here for our paycheck.” It doesn't feel right but he needs it to help pay for Shawn's funeral. She looks at him gravely.</p><p> </p><p>She reaches into the top drawer of her desk and produces the check. It's already signed and Gus shifts from foot to other foot.</p><p> </p><p>“Mister Guster. I am very sorry for your loss.”</p><p>Gus doesn't quite know what to say. “As am I for yours.” He walks out, shoving the check in his pocket.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hate writing major character death but I couldn't get it out of my head and eventually forced myself to write it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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